


I Was Meant To Be Yours

by ReginaCordum13



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, suicide warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaCordum13/pseuds/ReginaCordum13
Summary: The darkness festering in Angelina's mind is threatening to consume her. Grell wished nothing more than to distract his morose Madam, but their playtime may be her undoing.





	I Was Meant To Be Yours

Running, her mind was constantly running these days. Everything in her life was mangled, loud, disjointed, and worse still she was quickly losing control. Her sanity was fractured, mind torn by grief, and infected by the anger of another more powerful influence. Dawn’s pale-yellow light filtered in through her open curtains, causing her drooping eyes to wince. He would be in any moment to check that she was up and ready for the day ahead, a constant flaming reminder of her sins.

As always, he greeted her with a sharp smile, blundering guise on hold when it was just the two of them. “You’ve two appointments this morning, Madam, one for a young girl sick from the workhouse, and the other is a woman who wishes to kill her child,” he murmured flippantly.

Angelina looked up from her morning tea, eyes cold at Grell’s crass description. She hated when he tried to rile her up so early in the morning. “I shall, of course, try to dissuade her from this course, Grell. Was there anything else.”

He fairly pouted, dropping all pretense to sit beside her. With a gloved hand he reached out, stroking Angelina’s chopped bob. “No need to be so cold, dearest. We both know she deserves a visit from Jack~”

Her hands curled into fists beside her, body tense. “Is it not worth more if the child can be saved?”

With a scowl he stood, nearly upturning the tray sitting on Angelina’s lap. “Don’t go soft on me now, dearest! Our work is not yet complete. Where’s that fire, Madam Red, that spark of passion?” He huffed, hip cocked to the side as he regarded his mistress. “I must attend to my own duties today, but I shall be back tonight. I hope this episode of misanthropy has cleared by then and you’re ready to begin anew.”

Without so much as a by-your-leave Grell Sutcliff had disappeared. Angelina suspected that was what made the redhead so terrifying, the seemingly godlike abilities he possessed and flaunted at will. Things were not done by halves with the Reaper, everything was a spectacle, and in the beginning Angelina had been caught up in his beauty, his grace and majesty. However, now it seemed monstrous. He claimed they were partners, a perfect pair destined to live forever for their great work. The women they butchered deserved it, after all, for throwing away so callously that which Angelina and Grell could not possess. They had the moral high ground, he argued, and everyone was terrified to step out of line lest Jack strike them down. Almost nothing provided relief for such turmoil, the anger and hatred she felt against the world, against God himself for all she had suffered, and the pain she inflicted upon those women, the madness Grell was spreading through her. But how does one tell a deity they wish to cease contact. That they want to try to pick up the shattered pieces of their life and move on? Surely it was a delicate matter, and one, she knew, that would anger Grell. Perhaps tonight she would broach the subject.

…Then again, he seemed to see her as nothing more than a plaything. His contempt for human life didn’t stop at the women they murdered. There were many times he had reminded her of her fragile nature, her inherent weaknesses, despite his proclamations of devotion and ‘love’ She was fearful of what the Reaper would do should she prove uncooperative. With a sigh she stood and dressed herself for the day; an arduous task since Grell had run off in a snit. When Angelina was ready she walked to work for a trying day. The patient Grell mentioned could not be convinced to keep their child despite Angelina’s offering to help. She performed the surgery, heart aching throughout the procedure. Perhaps Grell was right, these women were good for nothing…But then, what did that make her? Trudging home after work she was not surprised to see Grell lounging on the divan, swirling a glass of her expensive cognac.

“Have you come to your senses, darling?” he purred, sharp smile glinting in the firelight.

“Oh yes, my queen, I’ve learnt the error of my ways, and I feel my contrition terribly, sincerely, and down to the bone.”

His glowing eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone, Madam.”

She looked down, black lashes brushing her pale cheek. “Grell, I don’t wish to do this anymore.”

The glass and cognac went crashing into the fire, causing it to roar briefly as if as angry as Grell was in this moment. “Come again?” he asked, eerily calm.

“I believe you heard me, Grell.”

With a snarl he stalked toward her, heels clicking sharply against the wood floor. With monstrous speed he grabbed her by the arm, pulling her close. “I don’t think you understand, Madam. When I deigned to help you seek justice for those innocent souls, to avenge your anger against them, I thought you understood that you would be seeing this to its end.” There was none of the lilt or put on femininity in his tone now. It was a low, dangerous growl that made Angelina’s blood freeze.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, and said to the red death, “Let me go; we’re through.”

His eyes widened for just a moment, glassy and full of rage, before his expression shifted so dramatically Angelina thought his skin might crack. “Darling, come now, there’s no reason to be so contrary. I know this is difficult for you; as a mortal you still have a misplaced sense of pity.” With a tug he pulled her into his arms, delicate white fingers playing with her hair. “B-u-t together we can make it all right. Come out with me, let’s paint the town red~”

With a whimper she melted into his arms, unable to escape him. “I want all this to end, I’m so tired.”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, shushing her gently. “But trust me, my love, life is so much better when lived to the fullest. Be bold and take back what should have been yours, what you lost so unjustly.”

“Will you help me, Grell?” she breathed against his lapel, fingers clutching the fabric as if it could save her from drowning.

A smirk flittered over Grell’s lips, and he replied with a soft, “As you wish, Madam,” before they disappeared.

Blood.

There was always so much blood. Sticky. The metallic scent clinging to one’s nose. She thought as a surgeon she would be used to it. But nothing prepared one for the stench of a corpse strewn about the room. Angelina had done her work quickly, hoping to prevent Grell’s more vulgar play. It did not stop him from tearing her apart until he called Angelina to his side to retrieve his prize.

“Go on, my love, take it. They don’t deserve to have such a gift, you know it.”

The blade glinted against the light, sharp and ready. Angelina hesitated for but a moment before she sliced into their victim. Angelina’s mind settled for a small space of time when the organ was finally excised. Everything was quiet. Grell stared at her with pride and devotion, and for a fleeting, glimmering moment, she felt happiness again. Then she looked down, reality crashing between her ears like a drum at the sight of their victim. Grief, helplessness, the contempt she had for herself pounding in her head in a mantra from Hell. Touching her shoulder gently Grell took them home. She collapsed against him as they touched down, trembling arms snaking around his shoulders. He released a simpering coo from between his bloodstained lips and held her close.

“My darling Madam, stay with me a little longer…” She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, mind spinning fifty thoughts too many. “There’s my good girl. Let’s get you to bed.” Stripping her of her soiled clothes he lifted her into his arms to carry his trembling murderess up the small platform and into her bed. Depositing a soft kiss to her forehead he turned to leave.

“No,” she gasped, vice-like grip upon his thin wrist.

He turned with a Cheshire grin, sharp and cold, loosening his tie. “As you wish.”

Their lovemaking was frenzied, filled with as much madness as the back alleys of White Chapel. Ruby hands stroked and polluted soft white skin, pulling gasps and moans from the divine and noble alike. Grell gripped her hips, leaving fingertip-shaped bruises along the jut of the bone. “You belong to me, mon petite…” She realised with horrible clarity that this was the truth; he would never let her go. Her body, her life, her very soul would always belong to him. Fear coiled around her heart, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. She clung to him with a cry as pain and pleasure pooled in her belly, and with a final thrust they released together in a white-hot climax.

Breathing heavily she stood from the bed as he sat up, confused. “Where are you going, pet?” She shook her head frantically, needing to escape. Stumbling, she ambled toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut to fall against the heavy wood once safe inside. Bemused, Grell rose from the bed, the red sheet wrapped delicately around him as if Botticelli would paint the crimson death god any moment. He approached the door and knocked softly, “I did not think myself too terrible, Madam. Though truth be told you’re not my type…”

Angelina wrapped her arms around herself as she rocked back and forth, eyes staring forward, unseeing.

Grell continued to knock, the sound too loud; why was everything too loud? “Darling, let’s not fight, whatever you’re feeling we can discuss,” came the simpering, lilt through the door. “Angelina open the door, please. I will not ask again.” With a cry she opened the shears and dug them into her wrist, eyes raised away from the red immediately bubbling up from the blade.

Quiet…quiet…quiet…quiet!

She pulled the shears down the length of her forearm tearing into herself the peace she could not find elsewhere. Everything was growing colder, Grell sounded further and further away; with a soft whimper she fell to the side.

“Madam…Angelina!” The pounding of his fist against the door mirrored the sound of her heart in her ears as blood pooled around her small frame. Her world darkened and with a soft breath she finally smiled as she shut her eyes. “Fuck it,” he breathed, breaking the door down, pushing Angelina’s body further into the small bathroom. When his phosphorescent eyes gazed down upon his scarlet mistress he froze. “You fool,” he breathed, dropping to his knees beside her, staining his hands anew with her blood. With little effort he pulled her into his lap, holding her close. “I asked you to stay a little longer, idiot girl…Why couldn’t you see this through?” Small wisps of slate-blue record curled from her wrists, playing short scenes for Grell to see. With a sharp growl he clamped his hand upon her wrist, hoping to staunch the flow of Records. He felt small pin pricks as the weak Records attempted to penetrate his skin and he chuckled humourlessly. “Trying to influence my heart even in death? Even Ophelia was not so cruel…”

Distracted as he was he did not notice one William T. Spears porting into the small space, looming over the too red scene, nose crinkling in distaste. “Dispatch officer Grell Sutcliff I’ve come to retrieve you,” he murmured coldly, gazing down at him as if he were the lowest being on Earth.

Shaking, he looked up at William, grin widening manically. “Perfect, just perfect. It would be you, wouldn’t it, darling? …You can’t have her…I won’t allow it.”

William sneered, disgusted with Sutcliff's behaviour. “You are in enough trouble, do not make it harder on yourself.”

Grell fought the immeasurable urge to take his mistress and flee, despite the records leaking from her body and playing around them in a cheap staccato Vaudeville show. “Will…please, I’ve never asked you for anything, but…don’t, don’t do this,” he gestured at himself then at William, “to her.”

William’s expression did not change, glasses glinting in the low light of the bathroom. “We will discuss this later,” he replied, readying his Scythe. Without warning, or another word, he struck, Scythe penetrating her chest; Grell did not move from beneath the mortal even as their crimes played for William’s judgement.

The redhead glared up at William, as if blaming him for the outcome of their madness. Unfazed and unamused William judged her Record accordingly and stamped the file. There were many things he might comment for the record, but they would have to wait until he got Sutcliff back to the Realm. He stepped forward, pulling one murderer from the other as Grell, defeated, put up little fight.

“You’re so cruel, darling,” he murmured dejectedly. He couldn’t say goodbye, couldn’t take a memento of her passing. She was just gone. He stood before his boss, glaring defiantly at him; William regarded him coolly, ignoring the roiling emotions within the depths of the redhead’s gaze. He always knew the other man to be mad, but for the first time in a century he saw the melancholy beneath the angry churning within his manic heart. The desire to be accepted, wanted…even loved. Had the mortal provided these, even in their shared lunacy? Is that why he clung to her even in death? The man who culled all from the highest aristocracy to the lowest personage without batting an eye, prideful of his impartial Reaper’s judgement. How had this unremarkable mortal woman swayed him away from their laws and regulations? It was unacceptable, and William would make sure he was punished for his transgression. He grabbed Grell by the lapel of his coal black coat and hauled him close, weary he would flee. “We are Reapers, Sutcliff. We follow orders from On High; we do not get to deviate from this path we have chosen, we don’t ask questions, we don’t make errors.” With these cryptic words imparted he returned to the Reaper Realm with the deviant and a new soul for perdition. It would seem this would be a long night of overtime for one William T. Spears.


End file.
